Page 28 of Forty, Flirty & Fall Inn

"You can and you will," she says firmly."That's what family does."

As we stand under the spa's awning, watching the Seattle rain create rivers in the gutters, Claire suddenly squeals.

"Oh!I almost forgot.”She pulls out a Tupperware container from her enormous purse.Inside, I can see a perfectly portioned serving of three-cheese lasagna.

"She made extra," Claire says unnecessarily."Just in case."

I stare at the container, my throat tight."Every week?"

"Every week," Harper confirms."Your chair, your game pieces, your favorite food.We're not giving up on you, Sage.Even when you give up on yourself."

The rain blurs my vision.Or maybe that's something else.

“Next Sunday?"Claire asks hopefully.

I think about the empty chair, the saved portions, the family that refuses to let me disappear.“Next Sunday," I agree.

"Yes!"Claire does a little pregnant-lady dance."Normal family game night is back!"

"Don't get too excited.I'll probably have to leave early to prep for the week."

"We'll take what we can get," Harper says.

But as I drive back to Alder Ridge, the October rain turning the world into an impressionist painting, the uncomfortable feeling from earlier returns, stronger now.

Me stalking Derek.Saving Luke’s picture.

Market research, obviously.But why did looking at it make my stomach flip?

And why does the thought of Lukas Sterling discovering my hack make me feel sick in a way that has nothing to do with potential legal consequences?

And why can't I stop thinking about the way he looked holding my Wonder Woman underwear, clinical and amused and somehow not judging?

Why do I remember exactly how his hand felt when we shook on a deal I haven't told anyone about?

The inn comes into view through the rain, and I push all uncomfortable thoughts aside.

I have a wedding to cater, a goat to wrangle, and a business to save.

Everything else—including whatever Harper thinks she knows about my patterns—can wait.

It has to.

8

BRO-GRAMMING SESSION

LUKE

Saturday morning arrives with the kind of crisp October clarity that makes the Pacific Northwest look like it's been run through an Instagram filter.

I'm standing in the Cascade View Inn's parking lot at seven AM, watching my installation team unload enough equipment to launch a small satellite, when Sage Winters appears in the doorway looking like she's been awake since the Mesozoic Era.

“Good morning there, boss!”she calls out, and something in my chest does a complicated maneuver that none of my Ivy League education could prepare me for."We need to talk!"

Boss.She called me boss.

Not Mr.Sterling.Not sir.Not even Luke.